Who Ate All the Fiends?
Who Ate All the Fiends? is an encounter in Melody of the Maze. It comes after Two Gallants. Enemies *Vomit-Covered Imp (1000 Gold, 112 XP, 70 Energy, 5 HP Normal, 6 HP Hard) *Vomit-Covered Gluttony Demon (1100 Gold, 120 XP, 75 Energy, 5 HP Normal, 6 HP Hard) Transcript Introduction "Hugh!" The word flies from your lips as your eyes fall upon a familiar figure. You run, your body following the word in its flight. He's leaning back against the stone wall, doubled over as though wounded -- his hand pressed to his abdomen. The face that looks up when you stop in front of him is strangely discolored, as though blanched, blood-drained skin has been suffused with an almost green tint. The weary, pain-stricken features on his round countenance shuffle between recognition, misery, and agony. "What happened? Do you need healing?" "Urgh..." is all he manages. Then his lip clamp shut, his cheeks puffing out like bagpipes preparing to unleash a tune. His hands rush up to his face, pressing against his mouth. The moment exposes his abdominal region. To your relief you see no traces of blood. For a moment you feared he'd been stabbed in the gut. There's a bubbling noise from Hugh's bulbous torso, followed by a low, trumpeting sound as air is shifted within his frame. He removes his hands from his mouth. "Thought my lunch was about to come up," he moans. "Knew I shouldn't have eaten those things, but I was bloody starving." "Your gluttony has undone us..." Brachus groans. "How did you get here?" you ask. "Do you know where we are?" "Do I look like a sodding oracle? I don't even-" His words give way to an immense gulp. Once more his mouth seals itself shut as his cheeks expand. But from the frantic look in his wide eyes you know that he's fighting an impossible war with his digestive system. You leap back as the floodgates open, and a stream of vile, viscous greenness gushes from his maw. Hugh's bent in half, his hands pressed against his knees as though to keep him upright and prevent him from falling into the lump, bubbling, steaming pool that festers on the floor of the passage. A thread of green gunk dangles from his mouth like a string, swaying above the devastation he's wrought. The stench is unbelievable. It's as though an alchemist' workshop exploded, and its most noxious mixtures seeped into an overused latrine pit. "I... I despise you..." Brachus says. "Better... better out... than... in." "What the hell did you eat?" Hugh tilts his head upwards, stares at you with watering eyes and a face smeared with foulness. "Just a... just a little..." His eyes widen. So does his mouth. A second torrent of vomit spews forth, this one so powerful that it seems to push his flesh away on all sides -- widening his maw into a gaping hole. Something crimson splashes out amongst the disgusting bile. It lands in the acidic lake and... thrashes. "Kill you! Kill you for this!" the imp screams. He claws at his face, scraping away handfuls of filth. "You ate an imp? A live imp?" "Not just an imp..." Brachus replies. "The... the idiot ate..." The imp screeches as another rushing river of vomit pours from Hugh's mouth -- swamping the little fiend. The screech becomes a muffled gargle as the unholy mixture envelops his entire head. Something impossibly large emerges from the yawning, spewing hole -- spreading out as though clawing its way into existence amidst the falling ooze. The imp manages to scramble aside just in time to avoid being squashed beneath the massive object that lands in the vomit with a horrendous splat and an infernal roar, sending splashes of foulness in all directions. You've got to be kidding... "Tear you apart, human! Tear you apart for this!" the gluttony demon howls. The demon tries to struggle to his feet, but slips and splashes back down into the abhorrent mixture. From the bellow he makes, the piece of slapstick does nothing to improve his temperament. "Oh, hell!" Hugh groans. Or rather his doppelganger does -- for you doubt even he would dine on demons. He lumbers off down the corridor at a wobbling run, disappearing from sight several moments before the fiends finally manage to trash and scramble their way up. So great is your incredulity at what you've witnessed that it occurs to you rather too late that you should make yourself scarce also. Furious, vomit-covered faces glare at you as you begin to back away. This isn't going to be fun... Conclusion The mysterious minstrel's harp seems to titter as you gaze down at yourself in abject horror, staring at the filth smeared across your garb and weapon. Both demons vanished the moment you cut them down, like your previous foes -- dispersed as mist. But this viscous, oozing, clinging substance remains. You're sorely tempted to yank the clothes from your body, hurl them to the ground, and immolate them with a bombardment of the most potent fire spells you know. But you fight off the almost overpowering urge. You need your weapon and garb. So instead you hold your nose, and start conjuring up the words to a cleansing spell. This might take a while... Category:Melody of the Maze